


Give Me Your Everything

by literaryspell



Series: Pretty Baby Universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossdressing, D/s, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Rimming, ball worship, some minor breathplay, willing/submitted to feminization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry shows Draco his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Your Everything

"I can't believe you," Draco muttered, striding from the Floo and brushing his form-fitting robes free of ash. He stalked to the sideboard and poured himself a more-than-healthy glass of scotch, knocking it back with three hard bobs of his Adam's apple.

"Where's mine?" Harry asked. He knew better than to encroach on Draco's space during such a volatile time, but he was having a hard time remembering past experiences with a tense Draco. Draco looked delectable and it took all Harry's willpower not to bend him over the sofa and eat him raw.

Draco tossed Harry a glare so void of humanity that Harry actually raised his eyebrows in response. Well, then. Draco was upset, it seemed.

Despite the anger Draco wasn’t shy about showing, he upended a bottle of the cheap Firewhisky Ron had given Harry at Christmas into a glass. He tossed in two ice cubes—Harry was surprised the glass didn’t chip at his vehemence, though he suspected Draco would be more pleased if the drink came complete with broken glass—and walked it over to Harry. He thrust it out, the movement so abrupt that the amber liquid sloshed over the side of the glass, onto Harry's dress robes.

Harry stood without taking the glass, forcing Draco to back up or get spilt on himself—or worse. "You've spilt Firewhisky on my robes," he said, frowning. His tone was menacing, and Draco's glare faltered. "You bought me these robes, Draco."

The ice in the glass clinked; Draco's hand had begun shaking a little. Then, in a liquid slide, Draco's stance went from caustic and acerbic to seductive, soothing. The drink was a peace offering, now, not something Draco wished was poison.

Harry didn’t fall for it; he took a step forward. Draco held his ground for all of five seconds before retreating. The proffered glass lowered, but Harry reached out for it. He kept his eyes on Draco as he downed the rough alcohol, his lips peeling back at the bite.

"You have something you want to say?" Harry asked. Though his voice reflected congenial concern, his eyes were unflinching, his mouth set in a narrow line. He advanced again. Draco took two steps back this time.

"I think you were out of line, Harry. Those people are your friends. I don't like them seeing me like that."

Harry took another step. Draco mimicked the dance in reverse yet again. "Seeing you like what?"

Draco's already pink cheeks darkened. He looked to the ground. "You know how."

"Of course I know how," Harry said. "I dressed you, after all. I want to know how you saw yourself."

In a second, Draco's magic flared, heat washing over Harry with the unconscious and ultimately ineffective reaction to embarrassment. "I felt… I looked like a whore."

" _A_ whore?" Harry asked. He stepped to close the distance, but Draco was more stubborn than upset—he avoided Harry and moved back as well.

"Your whore," Draco breathed. His back hit the wall. Harry watched as his hands splayed on the grey damask papering, fingertips white as they pressed into the wall like he thought he could slip right through it.

"Funny," Harry said, cocking his head to the side as he took in Draco's fetching nervous appearance. "That's exactly what I had in mind. Know why?"

Draco shuddered. He nodded.

"Why, Draco?" Harry reached out and let one finger move over Draco's smooth jaw, down his slender, pale throat, tapping once where his collarbones met.

"Because that's what I am," Draco whispered. He breathed deep, his chest straining the confines of the already-snug robes, before exhaling almost violently. His eyes met Harry's, defiant and _hot._

Harry's fingers encircled Draco's neck. He didn’t squeeze, but leaned in to the hold until Draco's body was flat against the wall, Harry's hand pinning him there.

"You love being my whore."

Harry watched avidly, his hand squeezing. No amount of money in the world could make him look away during the transformation. Draco's eyes narrowed. A retort formed on his pouting, pink lips. He bit it back, punishing his lower lip with sharp teeth. His glare smoothed and his narrowed eyes widened. He panted, painting his lips with slickness from his tongue as hot breath shot over them, onto Harry's own mouth. Draco's eyes fluttered and then fell closed. A sound struggled to escape past Harry's fatalistic hand but got mangled on the way.

When Draco's lips twitched into a half-smile, even as his face turned red from lack of oxygen, Harry knew the metamorphosis was complete.

"So if you loving being my whore," Harry said, continuing as if they hadn't stared at each other in total silence for over a minute, "why… _why_ do you fight so hard?" He removed his hand and watched in fascination as Draco gulped in breath, his red face regaining its pallor. His neck would bruise, a temporary collar to mark Draco as _his_.

"I'm sorry," Draco began. He looked away, a mischievous light in his pale eyes. "That I spilt Firewhisky on the robes I bought you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. His little slut had fight in him tonight. "Lick it off," he ordered, determined to show Draco his place.

"Fuck—"

Harry launched himself at Draco before he could finish his slur. He grabbed the shape of Draco's erect cock through his robes, squeezing viciously.

"—Me," Draco finished with a raw groan.

"Who owns you, baby?" Harry whispered. He gripped Draco's prick viciously even as he nuzzled Draco's neck, giving him tiny kisses.

"You, Harry," Draco gasped. His hips surged into Harry's grip.

"Who did you give yourself to?"

" _You_ , Harry!"

Harry tightened his grip, satisfied at the keening sound Draco made at the crossroads between pleasure and pain. Then he let go and grabbed Draco by the hair, yanking him forward and shoving his face against the spill on his robes.

Draco didn’t move, didn’t do anything, for a few moments. Harry was patient. He was always patient with Draco. Finally, even through the thick material of the robes, Harry could feel Draco's tongue probing at the spill over Harry's left pectoral muscle. He looked down to see a darting of pink tongue before Draco put his mouth to the cloth and sucked.

After a few minutes of watching Draco try to lick up a mess that had been nearly absorbed, he stopped Draco. "Take off your clothes," he said, stepping back.

With Draco, when things were like this, it was always better to move slow, to make sure there were certain repeated actions that Draco could feel comfortable doing. Undressing was one of them. There'd been a time when Harry would undress himself _and_ Draco, but he so much preferred watching Draco do it.

Draco unbuttoned the clasps at his wrists and neck and then leaned down to pick the hem up, gathering it in his fingers before lifting it over his head. Draco then folded the garment and set it on the coffee table, knowing that letting it fall to the floor would incur a punishment. Draco was never sure whether he'd like his punishments or not, so he tended to avoid them.

As Draco revealed more of his body to Harry, Harry also tugged his robes off. Normally he liked to stay dressed for as long as possible while Draco was naked, but tonight he needed Draco too badly to wait.

"Knickers, too," Harry said. He put his hands on his hips and waited for Draco to obey. Long, pale limbs and a slender, hairless torso were bared to Harry's gaze, and he took it all in, greedy, knowing Draco felt small and awkward under the scrutiny.

Draco tugged the white lace knickers down, stepping out of them before falling to his knees, predicting that Harry would ask him to suck him. Harry could only see the top of his blond head as Draco hooked his fingers into the waistband of Harry's pants and slid them down, lifting them away from his body so as not to catch his cock, and slipping them down the rest of the way. He remained on the floor, his face very near Harry's cock.

"You look gorgeous on your knees like that," Harry said. He reached down and took his cock in his hand, teasing it with a few slow, loose strokes. Draco moved closer, mouth parted as he tried to entice Harry's straining prick into his mouth—while trying to seem like he was doing nothing of the sort.

Harry did not oblige him. He brought Draco's head in with a hand on the back of his neck and then let go of his cock, letting it fall against Draco's face. Draco groaned and Harry gripped himself again, this time slapping Draco lightly on one cheek. He repeated the motion a few times until Draco turned, tongue sticking out, and tried to swipe Harry's cock.

Harry _tsked_ his disappointment. Draco looked up at him, grey eyes wide and apologetic. Harry just shook his head and rubbed his dick over Draco's lips, smearing his precome there and pulling away the moment Draco's tongue emerged again.

"You just don't learn, do you?" Harry sighed and took a seat on the couch. If his friends only knew how often he and Draco fucked on the furniture, they'd no doubt choose to sit on the floor during visits. Though, after tonight's events, they were certainly aware that Draco and Harry's sex life was voracious and varied.

"I thought you wanted me to…?" Draco said. He crawled to where Harry had sat, far enough away that he wouldn’t get in trouble for acting too eager.

"I _want_ you to do as I say."

Draco frowned. "But you didn't _say_ anything."

Harry just smiled and scooted down on the couch until his arse was at the ledge. He opened his legs. "Come here."

Draco immediately moved into the space between Harry's legs, staring with avarice at Harry's hard cock. He didn’t make a move to touch.

"Sometimes I'm not going to say anything. Sometimes you just have to let me guide you." That said, Harry's hand found its way back to the nape of Draco's neck. He pulled him forward, but not to his penis—that, Harry had in his other hand. He directed Draco to his balls, hanging low and shifting every time Harry stroked his cock.

He felt Draco's lips against his sac but Draco made no move to lick or suck. "Good," Harry praised. Draco was learning. "Lick the left one."

Draco's wet tongue painted a cool stripe over Harry's left nut. Just one lick.

"Very good. The right one." Harry bit back a groan as Draco's careful tongue repeated the action on his other ball. "Perfect. See, I knew you could follow direction." Draco gave a little hum to show he was pleased with Harry's attention. "Go ahead and lick and suck and whatever else you feel like doing until I tell you to stop."

Like he did everything when Harry dominated him, Draco threw himself into the task. His tongue, pointed or flat, flicking or prodding, covered every millimetre of Harry's balls. He would pull the loose skin between his lips and give gentle tugs, or nip at the skin that connected his scrotum to his body, by his perineum.

Draco bathed his balls, his actions becoming increasingly messy as his desperation made itself known. Harry thought back over the evening; it had been, over all, a success. No, Draco hadn't been thrilled about it. Yes, Ron and Hermione had been confused and possibly uncomfortable.

But Draco had never said to stop, had never left as he was free to do. He'd sat through the entire evening, face a furious red, as conversation stopped and started around him. He'd barely spoken during dinner or after—except when it had been Harry to ask him questions or his opinion. Then he'd spoken in a low, terse voice that did things to Harry's psyche. If he knew how beautiful his rebellion was, he'd probably work harder to hide it. It wasn't just Draco's submission that Harry relished—it was the fight to get there. Draco never made it easy, never succumbed before he was good and ready. He'd been fighting against it all day, ever since Harry had laid out the robes for him to wear to dinner.

The robes, so soft a grey that they had a touch of lilac in them, had been made especially for Draco, to Harry's precise specifications. The cut and fit were reminiscent of women's robes more than men's—a stylistic choice that was both purposeful and obvious. Where men's robes tended to have fuller arms and a more loose-fitting torso, modern women's robes were fitted, cuffs cut right to the wrist and body tight to showcase a tailored fit, with a soft flare at the hips. Even Hermione didn't wear robes that were quite so revealing—if not in actuality, then at least in suggestion.

Draco had tried to bargain, saying he'd wear women's undergarments but not the actual robes. Harry had persevered as he always did in these matters—and he'd had Draco wear women's knickers just to cement his victory.

The rule to the game was that Draco could always say no—but he had to mean it. And Harry knew when he didn’t mean it.

Draco moved his attention to Harry's inner thighs, sucking small bruises into the tender skin and licking the marks with a rather satisfied air.

"Marking your territory?" Harry asked with a derisive snort. "What makes you think I want to be branded by you, bitch?"

Wide eyes uncertain, Draco pulled back and looked up, obviously trying to read whether Harry was teasing or genuinely upset.

"Shouldn’t I be the one to mark you, to make sure you're known as mine?" Harry ran his fingers through Draco's hair, letting the fine strands tickle his wrist as he gripped Draco by the back of the neck. "That way you won't be able to spread your legs for anyone but me." His hand tightened and Draco's mouth fell open, a silent protest. "No one would be so stupid as to try to touch Harry Potter's wife, even if you are a slut."

Ignoring Draco's gasp—half outrage and half desire; Harry knew the sound very well—Harry stood, bringing Draco up with him. He kissed Draco's slick lips, tasting the sweat of his own balls on Draco's face.

"Go to the bedroom," Harry said. "Put the cock ring on and wait on the bed for me." He slapped Draco's bare arse, smiling to himself as Draco hurried away, a red handprint in stark relief against his pale behind.

Harry waited a few moments, finishing his drink as he stroked his cock with slow, teasing movements. No one could do to him what Draco did—no one could make him do to _them_ what Draco did. Around Draco, Harry was constantly hard, constantly in need. The balance of their sex games would certainly shift if Draco knew how wound up Harry was for him, how wound around his finger. He had to remain aloof if he wanted to keep Draco beneath him. If he smothered Draco by doting on him too much, as Harry sometimes felt the need to do, Draco would lose respect for him and stop submitting to him. It was a very delicate state of affairs that Harry wanted to keep exactly as it was.

Once his glass was empty, Harry poured another ounce and walked to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, which Draco had left wide open. The sight before him brought a smile to his lips, which he hid behind the glass, taking a slow sip. Draco was sitting back on the bed, legs spread wide, trying desperately to work a small silver cock ring on. He had his balls through, but his shaft was too engorged with blood to fit through the loop—still, he kept trying, even though it looked painful.

"Draco, I'm disappointed," Harry said, shaking his head.

Draco looked up at his voice, flushing prettily when he seemed to realise what a sight he made. To Harry, there was no question that he was stunning when he was desperate and embarrassed.

It must have been the sound of disapproval in Harry's voice that caused Draco's erection to flag enough that he could stuff it through the ring, with a little help from the jar of oil they kept on the nightstand. As soon as the implement surrounded his bits, however, Draco's cock swelled and throbbed, turning a rich, dark pink against his creamy white belly. He gave a sigh of relief and looked to Harry for approval.

"Tell me how hot you are for me," Harry demanded. He put his drink beside the lubricant and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Draco's leg from ankle to hip. "Tell me how much you feel like a whore."

Whenever Harry's hand approached Draco's groin, his ringed cock would twitch, drawing an almost uncomfortable sound from Draco's mouth. He should have known better than to get his hopes up, though—he should know by now that Harry almost never touched his cock, not on nights like these.

"Well?" Harry prompted when it seemed Draco wouldn’t speak. He pinched the skin behind Draco's knee and twisted until Draco gasped and rushed to answer.

"I'm so hot for you, Harry. I've been hard all day, thinking about tonight. I can't wait to have you inside me—"

"Inside you?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. His thumb rubbed circles over the point of Draco's hip.

"In my cunt," Draco breathed. His hips rolled under Harry's hand. "So deep inside that you'll never want to leave."

Harry studied Draco's cock, knowing his gaze was intense enough that Draco could almost feel it. His balls were tight and swollen, a deep red that complemented the lighter shade of his shaft. Precome was welling and spilling over from his piss slit—under Harry's unbroken stare, another small spurt erupted, and Draco's head fell back against the pillows.

"Beg me."

Draco's hands clenched and twisted in the bed sheets. His entire body rocked with the forced of his desire, writhing on the bed like he was being paid to do so. Still, he said nothing.

This, Harry recognised, was the moment that made all the torture—both Draco's and his—worthwhile. Like the struggle Draco had gone through with Harry's hand on this throat, this was important. This was the pinnacle, and Harry made himself memorise every single moment of fight or struggle. Draco's eyes closed and he looked away, but his mouth was open, shaky breaths rattling in. His legs alternated between squeezing together and spreading, a bid for relief but also to get Harry to touch him—which he didn’t. Draco's chest rose and fell, the action exaggerated enough that Draco's cock would rub against his belly, the wetness from his cock smearing there.

Then, finally, "Touch me." His voice was so small, so defeated. "Please, Harry, please just touch me. I need it so bad. I need _you_. Gods, _please_!" Draco ended on a cry, his voice breaking.

"Get on your hands and knees," Harry said, chuckling when Draco started the move even before he finished talking. Harry admired the sight in front of him. Draco, positioned like a dog, ready to take Harry's cock like a bitch in heat. "Head and chest down," he added. Draco was quick to react to this as well, lowering his upper torso against the bed, his face turned to the side.

Harry reached between Draco's legs and grabbed his dangling cock and balls, handling them roughly as Draco groaned and rocked back into the harsh grip. He stopped Draco's actions with a rough slap on his arse cheek, the same place as before. "I didn't say you could move." He laughed, and he could feel Draco's reaction in the thickening of his cock. "You're always so greedy for my touch, aren’t you? Doesn’t it bother you, to be so wanton?" Harry pushed on Draco's lower back until he got the message and arched, turning his pert arse high, his cheeks spreading.

Running a finger down Draco's sweat-dampened crevice, he said, "Draco… You've got such a pretty pink hole." He tapped it with two fingers, making Draco jump and then tense to stop himself from reacting again. "Would it like a kiss?"

Even though Draco's body was still, he was fluid in motion. He hands twisted in the sheets, his toes curled and stretched, his back heaved with his deep inhales, his thighs trembled, his cock twitched… and his eyelashes fluttered as he said, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Really, Draco should know by now that Harry _always_ wanted to hear the words.

"Yes, my hole… my pussy wants you to kiss it. Please."

"Hmm." Harry settled behind Draco, opening his legs so he could fit between them. He leaned in and placed a soft whisper of a kiss against Draco's rim. "Like that?"

Draco turned his face into the sheets and groaned.

"No? How about this?" When Harry placed his mouth over Draco's hole, Draco's tension, his need, reverberated through his entire being. He tried to stop from moving back in Harry's sloppy kiss, but he didn’t seem completely in control of himself. He made desperate gasping sounds, followed by low keens when Harry pointed his tongue and prodded Draco's hole relentlessly.

"Well, Draco? Like that? Tell me what you like, baby."

"I like that," Draco said in a quiet, shamed voice. He continued before Harry could prompt him this time. "I like it when you kiss me there, when you lick me. It's so dirty. I like the way it makes me feel."

"Good boy," Harry said, placing a soft kiss on both Draco's arse cheeks, one in the centre of his handprint. As a reward for Draco's candour and honesty, he continued the rim job, all the while working Draco's throbbing cock, his thumb brushing rudely over the head, making Draco jerk every time.

"Harry, please, it's too much," Draco said. He almost tried to move forward, away from Harry, but he stopped himself at the last moment and added, "Please."

Speaking against Draco's wet and clenching anus—just because he knew it would embarrass Draco—Harry said, "Could you come?" He tapped the head of Draco's cock, under the crown. Precome pulsed out, making the action wet. "Just from this?"

"Yes," Draco whimpered. His hips rolled, trying to find proper friction in Harry's grip as well as more penetration from Harry's tongue. He was an utter mess.

"Fuck." Harry panted as he lifted his face from Draco's arse and moved his hand away to Draco's vocal dismay. "Your pussy tastes so good." Harry moved up the bed and yanked Draco's face up from the pillows by his hair, angling his face to the side so Harry could lick at his lips. "Want to taste?"

Draco made a small noise that was almost refusal, but Harry didn’t give him a second to rebel. He slammed his mouth on Draco's, smearing wetness between their faces in a rabid kiss. Draco went wild, twisting to get at Harry better, laving his messy face in stripes and moaning all the while. "My beautiful whore," Harry crooned as Draco, who smiled, wild-eyed, desperate, and totally ruined by Harry— _for_ Harry.

"What do you want, Draco?" Harry asked. He wiped Draco's face off with his hand and smeared the saliva on the sheets. "Be honest."

"Fuck me," Draco said before even a breath had passed. He leaned up and kissed Harry, a bold move that he wouldn’t have done in the early days of their play. "I need it."

"I know you do, baby." The trust in Draco's eyes aroused him almost as much as the sight of his body. "You need me to make you feel good, don't you? No one can do what I can."

"No one," Draco agreed. He smiled through glassy eyes. "I need you."

"You'll have to work for your orgasm tonight, Draco. You weren’t very good at Hermione and Ron's."

"I'll be better," Draco insisted. He didn’t try to argue against Harry's accusation, and that was progress. "I'm sorry."

Harry kissed him softly to let him know he heard him, even if it wasn’t quite forgiveness. He then sat up and stripped off his robes down to his snug white pants—Draco had bought them for him, and Harry knew Draco remembered when his eyes lit up, though he didn’t give himself away otherwise.

Lying back on the bed, Harry hitched his hips up, his erection bouncing a little, and Draco got the hint and moved close. He leaned in as if to kiss Harry's prick, but held himself still at the last second, looking up at Harry with eyes seeking permission.

Harry shook his head. "Get on top of me." Draco's discomfort at dinner had kept Harry's cock needy all evening—he didn’t need Draco to bring him any closer to the edge.

Draco already looked half destroyed, a glean of sweat making his pale skin shine, his cheeks dark red even as the rest of his face lacked colour. Draco straddled Harry's waist, hitching a breath when their cocks brushed together.

"Open yourself up, baby," Harry said, jutting his hips up enough that Draco rocked forward, losing his balance and bracing himself against Harry's chest. Harry rooted around in the sheets until he found the lubricant Draco had used to get the cock ring on.

"Ask for it if you think you deserve it." Harry snapped open the lid on the tube and watched Draco carefully.

Draco bit his lip. Harry could read every emotion that danced over his fine, pointed features, and Draco knew that this was a test and only Harry held the answer key.

After a long moment, Draco held out his hand. "May I please have some lubricant, Harry?"

Harry tilted his head, considering.

Draco continued. "I know I haven’t been very good, but I think I was better when we got home." His voice lowered a register. "And I think I can be very, very good now."

Harry allowed the prideful comment. "I'm sure you'll be a perfect little slut for me," he said, squirting a generous amount of gel onto Draco's hand.

Without reacting to comment except with a twitch of his dick, Draco dipped two fingers into the lube and slicked Harry's cock. Harry had to truly restrain himself from thrusting into the cool wetness as Draco stroked him until he was evenly covered and not a moment longer, knowing he was on thin ice.

"Go on, fuck your hole for me."

Swallowing hard, Draco leaned forward, one hand on the bed beside Harry's head. His hips came down, his groin settling on Harry's as he arched his back and brought his hand around to his hole. Slick squishing noises followed, and Harry felt his blood pound every time Draco thrust in with his fingers—he could tell when it happened because Draco rocked forward and then fucked back, just as Harry had asked. It was almost enough to get them both off, if there hadn't been better things in store.

"Finish up," Harry said, his voice so low and quiet he almost didn’t recognise it.

"Want me to ride you?" Draco asked quietly, wiping his hand on the towel Harry had grabbed for him off the nightstand.

Harry just nodded and reached between them to steady his cock, careful to avoid Draco's. There were times, many times, that they made love; no filthy language, no orders, just two men enjoying each other's bodies in a very real and sensual way. During those times, Harry would watch Draco's face when they had sex. The emotions there guided Harry—if Draco looked pained, he wanted Harry to slow down. If Draco's mouth fell open and stayed that way, it meant his climax was imminent. When Draco's hands clutched at Harry's biceps, nails leaving crescents to admire the next day, it meant that Draco was overwhelmed, almost overcome. Harry liked those moments the best.

But this time wasn’t about making love. This was about fucking, raw and dirty, messy and painful, and so Harry watched his cock pierce Draco, watched his own thick length struggle under Draco's weight as he pushed down, impaling himself. Harry just wanted to see _fucking_. Draco's short, quiet grunts were background music.

Once Draco was seated, he looked so pleased with himself that the need to take him down a notched seized Harry. "You're not to use your hands." Harry grabbed Draco's wrists, pushed them behind Draco's back, and let go—there were no bonds, but Harry knew Draco would hold them there as long as possible.

A fire flared in Draco's eyes but he used his thighs to lift himself up and slowly back down over Harry's cock without complaint. He rocked forward, more grinding that fucking, but Harry didn’t mind. This deep inside Draco, he couldn’t be happier. And the look on Draco's face—that strained, halfway to pleasure, all the way to pain look—just made Harry feel complete.

Harry wasn’t sure how he was managing to keep from coming. He wanted to—every vein felt fiery with the need to let go. His stomach muscles were clenched and wouldn’t relax, and if he focused on his cock for more than a few seconds, he could feel his balls start to tighten and rise. He focused on Draco, instead.

After about ten minutes, Draco was starting to show exhaustion. His legs quivered every time he tried to pull himself up. He was barely getting an inch off Harry's cock before sinking back down in relief. Sweat dripped down his neck, over his chest, over his heart, to spill past his rigid abdomen.

Before long, Draco slumped and then fell forward—he didn’t bring his arms out to brace himself, he simply sank down on Harry's chest, both of them groaning at the change of position inside Draco.

"Don't you dare stop," Harry warned. He grabbed Draco's arse and moved him a few times, back and forth onto Harry's waiting prick. Draco picked up the rhythm, his arms still resting, limp, on his own back. The sweat between their bodies helped ease Draco's movements, but they were still tired and half-hearted.

"Can't you do any better?" Harry asked, grabbing Draco's hair and lifting his face from Harry's neck. Draco looked wretched—his fringe was matted on his forehead, his face was red with exertion and the need to come. His lips, yes—his lips were parted and staying that way. He was crying, but didn’t seem to realise it, unencumbered tears lacing his cheeks and blurring the grey of his eyes.

Draco nodded, still eager, even though Harry's hold on his hair meant he could barely move his head. He started rocking back with more effort, bringing himself two and three inches off Harry before plunging back down, gasping and whimpering because the angle meant Harry slid against his prostate on each thrust, barely a tease, never enough to satisfy. Harry suspected the cock ring wouldn't halt Draco's orgasm much longer.

Finally, Draco went completely boneless on Harry's chest, gasping for breath and shaking all over. "Harry… Harry."

"What is it? Tell me what's wrong, baby," Harry murmured, knowing, of course, that Draco was just exhausted and incoherent with the need to come.

"Please… come. For fuck's sakes, Harry." Draco was still breathless, but there was some anger in his words. "Please come and let me come."

Harry smiled and ran his fingers through Draco's damp hair. Seeing Draco give up, hearing him beg—what more could Harry ask for? And it was all for him.

"I've got you, baby, it's okay." Harry bent his knees for leverage and grabbed Draco's arse. Knowing what was coming, Draco braced himself, burying his face in Harry's neck and crying out weakly when Harry first plunged in. He was merciless, teased to distraction by Draco's slow and shallow ride—now he needed something deep and _brutal_. He fucked Draco with fierce, intense thrusts, long-dicking him until Draco's cries began to feed Harry's fervour. "Stroke yourself," Harry said through gritted teeth—his end was fast approaching and he wanted Draco to come first, so he could fuck him through it.

"Don't need to," Draco gasped out, more alive now as he ground himself, his cock, against Harry's tensed belly, the entire area wet with his precome. "Going to come like this."

Harry slipped his hand along Draco's slick back, down to the place where Harry sank into him. He teased Draco's stretched hole with one finger, pressing against the seal until his fingertip forced its way inside, tightening Draco to obscene proportions. Draco emitted a pathetic whine but thrust harder against Harry. It was too much—Harry pulled Draco back by his hair yet again, even rougher this time. He guided Draco's mouth to his, kissing him viciously, biting and licking and dirtying Draco in the way they both loved, both needed.

"Ask me," Harry said with the final vestiges of his sanity.

"Can I come?" Draco asked without missing a beat. His eyes were wide and desperate as they stared into Harry's without really seeming to see at all.

"Whenever you're ready," Harry said, wanting to see Draco come with the cock ring on.

Despite the jewellery around his cock and balls, there was no holding back. With the permission granted, Draco cried out, almost a wail, and went completely stiff except for the minute rocking of his hips as Harry's stomach became wet with his release.

The contractions of Draco's insides around Harry were too much to bear. As much as he might have loved to throw Draco onto his back and pound into him, hearing him cry about being _too sensitive, too much_ —that would have to wait for another time. Now, he was coming, holding Draco's arms behind his back and using them for leverage to thrust up and in and _deep_ —filling Draco, making himself a part of him.

"Fuck, you're amazing," Harry said once his breath returned to him. He loosed his grip on Draco's arms, but they stayed in position. "You okay, baby?"

Draco groaned, long and low, before lifting his head up to look Harry in the eyes. The haze of lust and pain was gone, replaced by emotion akin to affection, bracketed by something deeper, something even more beautiful.

"I think you get rougher every time," Draco said. With the use of his arms returned, he pushed up and off of Harry, Harry's wet cock slipping from him, followed by a pulse of come.

Draco manoeuvred himself onto his back, arms thrown above his head, face turned toward Harry.

Harry sat up and rubbed Draco's chest, pinching his nipple harshly and watching with bared teeth as Draco's cock stirred in reaction.

"I think you like it better every time," Harry said, teasing.

Draco didn’t answer, just rolled his eyes and slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. As always after a scene with Draco, Harry's mind went to what he could do to Draco next, what was in store. Humiliating Draco in front of Ron and Hermione by making him wear women's robes had hit a kink for Harry that he hadn't even known he'd had—now all he could think about was tormenting Draco in a public place, in a restaurant, the wait-staff's knowing eyes on Draco—slutty, beautiful, unbreakable Draco.

Draco returned from the bathroom with a damp flannel, which he used to clean Harry up, his movements brisk and efficient but still somehow adoring. A shower was really called for, but Harry wasn’t going to stop one of Draco's infrequent shows of affection. He pulled Draco in for a kiss, a lazy, promising, sated kiss that had them both sighing when it broke.

Tossing the flannel in the hamper, Draco shifted down beside Harry and tugged the covers over both of them. Usually it was Harry who took care of Draco, cleaned him, reassured him, but he was more than happy to be on the receiving end of the aftercare this time.

"You're perfect," Harry whispered. The lamps were dimmed, the moonlight a silver kiss across the bed.

Draco didn’t make an arrogant or snide remark. He didn’t even smile in response. He just nodded—not like he thought Harry was right, but like he accepted that _Harry_ thought it.

After a long moment during which Harry was certain Draco'd fallen asleep, Draco whispered, "I didn’t really hate the women's robes."

"I know you didn’t, baby," Harry said, soothing him after what must have been a difficult confession.

Draco smiled a little and then fell asleep, fast, like he always did.

Harry's mind was quiet. Thoughts of future scenes, while arousing, were silenced in favour of the sweetness of Draco's surrender, the softness of his body, the steadiness of his breath. It was so like him, Harry knew, to fall in love with something so impossible, something so changing, something so steady. Something so his.

-the end-


End file.
